


Am I Even Real Anymore?

by AlpineFresh



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ranboo is a Good Friend, Who needs therapy when Michael is right there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 20:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlpineFresh/pseuds/AlpineFresh
Summary: Tommy wandered aimlessly, unaware of his own movements as he stumbled around and only partially noticing the cold that bit into his skin and blew through his ragged clothing.He didn’t- he didn’t feel real anymore. As if he were part of some weirdly realistic hallucination."Tommy? Are you okay?"
Relationships: Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 420





	Am I Even Real Anymore?

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! Whipped this fic up in a couple days in light of Tommy's recent lore stream, because hell no am I letting Tommy go any longer without getting some form of comfort (also I just want Tommy and Ranboo to be friends again Sadge). And hey! I've also been wanting to write a fic with Michael, so that's a major plus.
> 
> TW: Disassociation, mentions of death, Derealization 
> 
> Happy reading! <3

Tommy wandered aimlessly, unaware of his own movements as he stumbled around and only partially noticing the cold that bit into his skin and blew through his ragged clothing.

He didn’t- he didn’t feel _real_ anymore, like he was trapped in a dream- god no, not that word, anything but that word. Dream was a fucking _bastard_ and he didn’t want to think about him anymore.

So he would settle for calling it a nightmare, or some kind of hallucination maybe… Yeah, that was a better word to use, it felt like he was stuck in a weirdly realistic hallucination.

Everyone thought he was dead! Tommy was- he died and he did not want to think about that anymore, no thanks, no, no, no, no-

God- they all stared at him like some kind of fucking _freak._ Was he a freak? 

Tommy swallowed thickly, fingertips growing numb (though maybe that was just from the cold). He wasn’t a freak, he _wasn’t._

He couldn’t feel his legs anymore, surrounded by freezing dampness. The sharp sting of the cold was almost comforting, in some fucked up way. It made him feel a little more real, like he maybe wasn’t making things up in his head, like he wouldn’t wake up any second to see Wilbur, or Schlatt, or Mexican Dream in that void of nothingness.

It stung in a way that didn’t feel like he was being beaten to death in a prison cell, there was never any cooling sensations in that horrible place. Only the slow pops and bubbling of the lava giving off harsh light and an even harsher heat.

He never thought he could actually find himself to enjoy the cold before all this, he wasn’t exactly built to handle it.

But that didn’t prevent the relief from flooding him when he could actually _feel_ the distant pain slowly numbing his fingers and toes.

Completely unlike the lack of any feeling that came with the shitty afterlife, or the overwhelming pounding into his head when he died, or the unbearable feeling of being slowly ripped apart piece by piece when he was dragged back into the land of the living.

Warmth exploded on his wrist, nothing more than a gentle touch at most, but it still felt like white-hot iron against his skin.

Tommy choked on a gasp and scrambled back, eyes blown wide and struggling to find focus. “Stay the fuck away from me- don’t- don’t fucking touch me!” he shrilled.

His eyes finally decided to work, locking onto the split black and white of Ranboo.

The enderman hybrid was crouched in front of where Tommy had been sitting, head lowered submissively and hands held palm up to show that he was unarmed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Tommy… I just wanted to invite you inside, it’s pretty cold out today, I don’t want you to end up sick,” Ranboo explained evenly, voice never swaying from it’s calming monotone.

Tommy glared distrustfully at the teen who Tubbo had oh so happily replaced him with, feeling a sharp pain in his chest when his eyes caught on the plain silver band around his finger.

Ranboo didn’t seem bothered by the silent treatment, speaking up again regardless. “Te- _uh,_ a friend of mine told me you liked hot chocolate… Is there any way I could bribe you to come indoors with a cup of cocoa? I’m told I make it quite well,” he tried, offering a small smile.

Hot chocolate did sound nice. Tommy could safely say that was one of the few good things left in life. Hot chocolate never tried to kill him, or stare at him until he felt like some kind of mutated zoo animal on display.

He nodded his head in confirmation, movement jerky and uncertain.

The corners of Ranboo’s eyes crinkled in a way that reminded him of Philza as his smile became a little more genuine (the comparison made Tommy’s heart ache painfully, but he elected to ignore those feelings for the time being).

Ranboo started to reach out towards Tommy and the teen felt a flash of panic shoot through his veins, flinching back and raising his hands to protect himself.

_“Shoot-_ sorry Tommy. Look, you’re okay, I’m not gonna touch you, got it? You’re safe here,” Ranboo reassured him, immediately drawing his hands back and leaning away to give Tommy space.

Tommy exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair as the other clasped over his heart in an attempt to calm himself. “Yeah, all good here, I’m perfectly fine- no I’m not, I… Let’s just get that fuckin’ hot chocolate.” Tommy stood up too quickly, gritting his teeth through the wave of dizziness and momentary loss of vision.

It was something he’d been starting to get used to after being stuck in the prison with only raw potatoes that Dream wouldn’t even give him half of the time to eat. Though the familiarity of the occurrence didn’t make it any less pleasant to experience, throat tightening as it reminded him of the months of being trapped in void.

Ranboo was mindful enough not to get too close to Tommy as he led the other teen towards a familiar cabin. It was Tubbo’s cabin… Fucking christ, did he really manage to wander all the way over to Snowchester?

The inside of the cabin was a comfortable temperature, enough to melt away the chill, but nothing like the blistering heat of the prison cell.

Ranboo gestured to an already pulled out chair beside a table in a gentle suggestion before turning to the kitchen and filling up a kettle.

Tommy just barely stopped himself from collapsing into the chair, eager to get off his trembling legs.

He kept an eye on Ranboo as the hybrid took things out from the cupboards and set them gently on the counter. Finding himself almost mesmerized by the way his tail curled and swayed back and forth as he moved.

Tommy slumped against the smooth wooden surface of the table, resting his head on his arms, watching the tail move through half-lidded eyes. Now that he was out of the cold, it felt as though his anxious energy had melted away in the warmth.

It reminded him of when he was younger… Not that he particularly wanted to think about that, those memories had already long since been tainted by the shadow of recent events and fallouts.

Why the hell was Ranboo even doing this? He must have better things to do, surely he would much rather be hanging out with Tubbo- his literal _husband_ now, apparently.

A frown tugged at the corner of Tommy’s mouth. He missed Tubbo- Tubbo acted strange now… He wasn’t very much like the person he remembered, watching Tommy from a distance and openly staring at him as if he was a ghost.

Tommy didn’t like the way people were treating him now, either acting like he was made of fragile glass that would shatter at the smallest thing- or acting like he was an attraction or science experiment to be watched and prodded at.

He fucking despised it. He hated that it made him feel small and weak- he was neither of those things! He was a big man who was strong and perfectly capable of taking care of himself and didn’t need to be watched by someone every second of the day.

“Here we are.” Ranboo set down three cups of steaming hot chocolate on the table, putting the biggest mug in front of Tommy.

Biting back a yawn, Tommy lifted his head and grabbed at the mug, feeling the warmth seep into his hands. Wait-

“Why the fuck did you make three cups? Is Tubbo here? Where is Tubbo?” Tommy demanded, tapping against the side of his mug.

Ranboo chuckled nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Uh, no… No, Tubbo’s not here right now, I think he said he wanted to go look for some new beehives to transport here,” he explained.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, “Then why did you make three cups? Are you stupid or something?”

The hybrid shook his head, seemingly unaffected by the insult. “Nope! I actually have someone I wanted you to meet. He’s really nice, I swear it.” Ranboo thumped his fist over his heart to accentuate the promise.

_Meet?_ Was there actually someone within these lands that Tommy hadn’t met yet? “Alright,” he agreed slowly.

Ranboo was gone in nearly an instant, swiftly climbing up a ladder and disappearing into a trapdoor.

Tommy curled his wrists inward and brought his drink closer, taking a deep breath of the sweet scented steam it released.

Nostalgia and longing hit him like a truck at the familiar smell, breath catching in his throat and eyes widening marginally.

He took a cautious sip, finding it already the perfect temperature to not scald his mouth. He could feel his face crumple at the taste on his tongue, eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

It tasted exactly like the hot chocolate Techno used to make him, it- it even had the same number of marshmallows. 

Tommy’s lower lip trembled, sight blurring as tears sprung to his eyes. 

_Gods, how long has it been since Techno’s made him hot chocolate?_ It must have been back when he was still a kid, whenever Wilbur was still around, before his family had turned into a bunch of dickheads… 

An unwanted memory of a much more recent occasion flashed through his mind against his will. A memory of Techno finding him hurt and scared in the basement of his home, of the man, while still visibly upset and irritated by Tommy’s antics, boiling a pot of water and putting together a mug of hot chocolate for the teen.

Tommy sniffled, wiping tears and snot away on his sleeve as he heard the trapdoor open again and ladders creak under the weight of a person.

“Okay... Tommy? Meet my kid, Michael! Michael, meet my friend, Tommy!” Ranboo introduced, holding a little piglin kid forward with a bright smile.

Tommy blinked, taken aback by the new information. The new person was some random piglin child? And not even a hybrid either, just straight up semi-zombified piglin- and Ranboo’s _son?_ _“Jesus,_ you leave for two months- two weeks- months…? Weeks. And all of a sudden people have gotten married and have children,” he muttered.

The piglin kid, Michael, grunted a greeting at him as Ranboo sat him in a chair and pat his head affectionately.

Tommy held eye contact with the kid- well, kind of, it was a little hard when Michael only had one eye. “So, what the fuck’s _your_ deal, huh? Think you’re all that because you have a caring dad? _Ha,_ jokes on you- I can actually take care of myself because I am a _massive_ man,” Tommy gloated, sticking his tongue out at the kid.

Michael said nothing, tilting his head before sticking his tongue out as well.

The teen couldn’t help the amused snort, “What a fuckin’ dumbass, doesn’t even know when I’m making fun of him.”

Ranboo sat down in the chair beside Michael and crossed his arms, “Michael isn’t stupid, he is literally a toddler,” he insisted defensively.

Tommy waved his hand lazily and went to take another sip of his drink.

Something made pause, a small tug in his chest as he gazed into the cup, grip tightening. Was he actually in a hallucination? There was no way this could actually be real… Why would Ranboo know how to make hot chocolate just like Techno- and having a kid? 

This wasn’t- it couldn’t be real- he didn’t feel real anymore.

Tommy put his mug back down and wrapped his arms around his stomach at the twisting nausea making itself known.

He gripped at his sides, desperately searching for anything to prove that he was real, that he wasn’t still dead.

“Tommy, are you okay?” Ranboo’s voice seemed so distant, like it was being put through a filter.

Tommy opened and closed his mouth several times as he struggled to find an answer. “Am I- I’m not real, am I? I- _fuck,_ please tell me I’m real, I’m not dead, _I’m not!_ I’m a person- I _exist,”_ he gasped.

Movement shuffled around him, “Tommy. Tommy, _listen to me.”_ The words were somehow both incredibly gentle and forceful at the same time.

“Can you feel the chair that you’re sitting on? The fabric of your shirt?” Ranboo asked.

The same shirt he’d been wearing for weeks shifted against his skin, scuffed to shit from going so long without access to a sewing kit, but still soft as ever. It was a familiar texture, he adjusted his grip so that he could shove his nose into the collar of his shirt, taking in an uneven breath and nodding.

“You feel that? It’s real. Just as real as you are, as real as me, Michael, and the wooden floorboards under your feet. You’re alive and you’re not alone, I promise.”

Tommy closed his eyes, feeling every breath pass through him. Paying close attention to the fabric pressed against his face and between his fingertips. Kicking his legs slowly to brush his ankles against the chair legs, finding comfort in the solidity.

_Real._ It was all real, _“Okay,”_ he breathed out, letting his eyes flutter open again and peeking at Ranboo.

The other teen sent him a reassuring smile, “Are you all good If I go grab something from downstairs real quick?”

“Of course, I’m not fucking injured or anything,” Tommy scoffed, looking away from Ranboo’s concerned expression.

He heard Ranboo hum, “Of course, of course.”

Tommy didn’t raise his gaze again until he heard Ranboo descending the ladder.

When he finally looked back up, Michael was standing right beside him with a crudely made stuffed chicken in his arms.

The kid grunted at him a few times before shoving the chicken plush towards Tommy. “Sss… Saaa… _Sad.”_ Michael nodded in satisfaction when he managed to string the word together in common.

Tommy blinked incredulously, he honestly hadn’t been expecting Michael to be super… Sentient. 

Michael stomped his foot when Tommy made no move to grab the plush, forcibly pushing it against Tommy’s chest with an irritated grunt. “Sad,” Michael repeated, sounding much more frustrated than he ought to be.

“Okay, jeez, no need to get so pushy about it. I’ll take your fucking toy, I guess,” Tommy scoffed, accepting the gift.

He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the poor stitching with a small frown. Whoever made the thing obviously had almost no idea what the fuck they were doing. It was painfully sloppy, stitches done too loose, as well as being on the wrong side. A single tug on the right thread would have been able to tear the entire thing apart.

“I’m back!” Ranboo announced, drawing both Tommy and Michael’s attention to him.

The hybrid had a soft navy blanket folded neatly in his arms, his tail was flicking nervously behind him, looking wholly uncertain with himself. 

Tommy held up the chicken plush, “Who made this?”

Ranboo’s expression brightened, looking between Tommy and Michael, who was still standing beside him, looking a little too proud about the plush he forced Tommy to hold.

“Well, Tubbo picked out the material, but I was the one that put it together,” Ranboo revealed.

Tommy snorted quietly, “Ah, well that explains why it’s so poorly made then. Can’t believe the guy taking my place doesn’t even know how to stitch things properly-”

“I’m _not_ taking your place,” Ranboo said firmly, interrupting Tommy’s little verbal jab at his skillset.

A bitter smile found its way onto Tommy’s face, “Aren’t you though? I mean, Tubbo’s literally been fucking avoiding me, and I’d have to be an _idiot_ not to notice the way he practically clings to _you_ now,” he retorted, fighting to play up his aggression through the invisible claws that seemed to be tightening around his lungs.

Ranboo didn’t back down, taking a half-step closer. “Tommy, I could _never_ take your place as Tubbo’s best friend- nor do I _want to._ He cares about you _so much,_ got it? He’s just been having a rough time dealing with all of this.”

Tommy felt a flash of- of _something_ that he couldn’t even _begin_ to identify, and he stood up abruptly, fists tightening around the plush. “Oh, _he’s_ been having a hard time? How the fuck do you think _I_ feel!” He shouted, using pain in his chest as fuel for his anger.

“I fucking _died!_ I was trapped in that shitty purgatory for _two months!_ And now everyone treats me like some kind of fuckin’ freak! Well guess what, bitch? _I’m not!_ I’m still me- I’m still Tommy! So if anyone’s having a hard fucking time right now, it’s _me,”_ Tommy ended his rant on with a hitched breath, eyes stinging again, much to his irritation.

A tiny hand pressed itself against his arm, Michael stared up at him with a concerned squeak.

Ranboo sighed and stepped closer, “Look, I can’t even begin to imagine the things you’ve been through, and I’m sorry if I hurt you… But _never_ doubt how much Tubbo cares for you, okay? You’re his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing anyone could do to change that fact, he would drop everything in an _instant_ if it were for you.”

Tommy scowled at the floor, unable to believe the other teen’s words yet. But he was also past the point of wanting to discuss further, instead searching for a new topic.

“What’s the blanket for? You gonna take a nap, or some shit?” He asked.

Ranboo shook his head, looking nervous again. “No, uh, it’s for- It’s a weighted blanket, I… Use it a lot whenever I’m feeling out of it, so I thought it might help you?” He suggested, voice carrying an undertone of hope to it.

"I don't need 'cho fuckin' _pity,”_ Tommy hissed.

Ranboo looked like he was five seconds away from sighing for the second time in the same minute. He switched up his grip on the blanket to free up one of his hands for the sole purpose of dragging it across the side of his face. “For the last time, none of the things I’ve ever done for you have been out of pity. Is it really so hard to accept that maybe, _just maybe,_ I actually care about you?” He started, exhaustion evident in his slouched posture and drooping ears.

“Don’t ask me why, because I’m honestly not too sure myself anymore, but I do. You’ve helped me before, and you didn’t have to do that, but you did it anyways. So I don’t care how many times you insult me, or burn the flowers I give you… I won’t stop trying to help you, because I _owe you,”_ Ranboo insisted, completely serious in his wording.

Tommy furrowed his brow, looking back in an attempt to find on occasion where he’d gone out of his way to help _Ranboo._

Apparently the hybrid in question noticed his confusion, because it didn't take very long for him to speak up again. “Back whenever we burned down George’s house, you could have pinned all the blame onto me- _should have just pinned the blame on me,”_ he muttered, “But you didn’t. And so every time I’ve given you something, or tried to help you, that’s been because I owe you and I _care_ about you. Not because I _pity_ you.”

“Oh,” Tommy said lamely, squeezing the chicken plush in his hands.

He looked at the blanket still in Ranboo’s arms, curiosity trickling through him. “Does that- does it actually help at all?” Tommy asked quietly, half hoping Ranboo wouldn’t even hear him.

Of course, Ranboo’s ears flicked forward attentively at the mumbled words, catching them with ease. “I mean, it does for me, so maybe it will for you too.”

Ranboo padded closer to him, hesitantly reaching to drape the blanket over Tommy’s shoulders. The teen tilted his head in a silent inquiry for permission before going through with it.

Tommy’s muscles tensed briefly out of reflex at the new weight, but he soon found himself relaxing into it. His shoulders dropped and he wrapped the hefty blanket around himself. Unlike the plush, the blanket was expertly crafted, made of a soft fabric that didn’t itch or grate against his skin the way most things seemed to after his revival. It reminded him of Phil's wings, warm and soft as they wrapped around him and hugged him close

His gaze drifted back to the table, to the mugs of hot chocolate left abandoned.

Ranboo followed his line of sight, “Ah, it’s probably a little on the cold side by now… Shame,” he murmured.

Tommy shrugged and sat back down in his seat, wrapping his hands around the cup. It had lost most of its heat, but it still managed to seep warmth into his fingers, so he took a sip regardless.

The taste filled him with the same homesickness he got before, achingly familiar. He decided not to ask where Ranboo got the recipe from, if only for his own sanity.

He had much better, less depressing, things to talk about. “Who the fuck taught you to sew things? Did you know that you are shit at it? Tommy remarked.

Ranboo dropped his head into his hands and groaned softly, “Self taught, I know it’s bad, but I can’t exactly ask anyone to help.” 

“Hmm… You will have to show me your supplies later, it’s fucking stupid not to know how to fix clothing in this hellish world. Also this plushie is shit that will fall apart in a couple of weeks and I find that unacceptable, you stupid prick,” Tommy decided with a self assuring nod before he lifted the rim of the mug to his lips.

Ranboo’s head shot up, eyes wide, “Really?” He sounded like a hopeful idiot, in Tommy’s ever so humble opinion.

He suppressed the smallest smile and looked away. “Don’t get any ideas, I am only offering because your current work is an affront to god and I hate it,” Tommy scoffed halfheartedly.

“Right, right, of course.”

Despite not even looking at him, Tommy could hear the smile in Ranboo’s voice as he spoke.

Something pat his arm gently and he glanced down to see Michael beaming up at him, squealing and grunting in the language he only ever bothered to learn (read; forced Techno to teach him) various insults and swear words in.

Tommy reached over and pat him back, “You’re a silly little shit, ain’t ya? Well lemme tell you, Michael… I am going to teach you how to get so many women when you are older- but also drugs and scamming, mostly just drugs and scamming,” he promised with a cheeky grin as Ranboo started sputtering disapproval and pleas to _not_ teach his son totally valid and necessary life skills.

Tommy paid Ranboo’s distress no mind as he continued on, “Don’t worry Michael, your parents shall never know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed! Feel free to let me know if there were any mistakes or missed warnings! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, though not necessary ofc.
> 
> Yep, I now headcanon that Phil taught his kids some basic sewing at the very least (stfu canon, I don't care if Phil's only kid is technically Wilbur, I reject you. Now go sit in the timeout corner). Because the knowledge and ability to mend clothing is extremely valuable and handy, especially in a Minecraft setting where there are hostile mobs looking to tear you apart.
> 
> Honestly, I might fucking write another fic based after this particular lore stream. Purely because I'm a bitter mf who misses sbi fdau and wants Tommy to go vibe with Techno and Phil without being at each other's throats for every second of it.
> 
> Idk, might happen, might not happen. Completely depends on how spiteful I get, because I have a multichapter fic that I should probably get back to working on soon, lol.
> 
> Aight, peace out, see you later!! o/


End file.
